


An unusual day: Prompt-chain

by Cappuccinomuki



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Gen, Prompt Fic, Prompt-chain, Slow To Update
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-24 06:19:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14349705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cappuccinomuki/pseuds/Cappuccinomuki
Summary: Prompt-chain = Multiple prompts squeezed into one chapter or story, no other ideas written in between the prompts (prompts chained), following prompt usually not known.Simply put, a story set in the TFP-universe with something new behind the next corner. What, not even the writer knows. Anything can happen.





	1. Alien Attack

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts for this fic came from a Christmas gift "Prompt notebook" I got from a fellow writer-friend. The prompts are written in order as they come from the book and there has been no sneak-peeks.
> 
> The prompts are noted in the end in the order of appearance.  
> Some of the ideas have been slightly bend (with permission) to fit the setting.
> 
> Enjoy!

Soundwave didn’t like it. To say he hated it or loathed it, was too extreme -those were far too powerful of emotions for the spymaster. But like, that he could cope with, it was borderline neutral on both sides of the spectrum. And right now, the situation on board the Nemesis, he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it, because Megatron didn’t like it. True, there are many a thing that the Decepticon Warlord doesn’t like, and in fact, hates or even loathes with his very spark, but with those feelings Soundwave didn’t dare identify with.  But to the scowl on his Master’s faceplates, the deadpan, annoyed look mixed with boredom and a hint of disappointment –the type of look no other than Soundwave could notice – with that face the silent Decepticon could identify with.

Currently that expressionless, I-don’t-like-this, scowl was directed at a pair of drones who had made the grave mistake of saying that _We’re under alien attack! Three humans have penetrated the ship’s defences and are running loose_ with a loud voice. Exactly how that had warranted mentioning to the Lord was not exactly beyond Soundwave’s comprehension, but he had regardless _disliked_ the drones’ choice of words, and the blaring, ship wide alert.

The slender mech had known his Master for many a millennia and it took the experience of all his years of knowing Megatron to know, why the silvery gray Warlord disliked the current situation. Of course the spymaster would never divulge that information under any reward or any threat to any one, especially not to the drones cowering under their master’s gaze, but he would, with a strong feeling of dislike, make a note of the incident on his personal memory drives, with the smallest possible footnote mentioning that Air Commander Starscream had been right, for once.

* * *

Miko beamed with joy, being the only one to do so out of the group. To her right, Jack was cursing under his breath and trying his best to dial any of the Autobots, and to her left, Raf was tripping over his open shoelaces. Sure, this was not how the ‘bots had suggested they’d spend their weekend, but hey, she wasn’t complaining! Storming the Decepticon Warship (okay, by accident) was totally better than being cooped up in the base doing homework (yuck!) with the ever-vigilant Doc Bot scrutinizing over your shoulder and correcting every single thing. Raf seemed cool with it, but not this girl, nope.

“You know, guys, this feels exactly like in that movie we watched, the one about the astronaut on his one way trip to Mars?”

“How does this feel anywhere near like that?!” Raf wailed before regaining his step for the umpteenth time since they had been accidentally bridged to the enemy boat.

“Well, remember when he said that _I need to fix this. I made a mistake and now I need to make it right._ That _maybe out here in space, all alone, with my survival depending solely on my own actions and my own wits, I can rise to be something more, to do something no human has done before_ , you remember that point, right? It was so cool-“

“Get to the point, Miko!” Jack growled as they dodged under a drone trying to grab them and rounded a corner to dodge an insecticon and hear the two ‘cons tripping over each other and tumble to the corridor floor.

“Right, well, I’m not saying that this situation with being trapped on the enemy warship with hundreds of Decepticons and the main Buckethead is _my_ fault, but we could totally do something no other human has ever done before!”

“The point!” The boys hollered as one.

“We could bring this flying Con-tub down! Human style! _I’ll fix this even if I have to pull this ship apart to do it!_ You know, like in the movie? But the other way, not fix but break? I’m great at breaking stuff!” A celebratory jump and a fist pump accompanied the shout. “And besides, why are we still running? No one’s chasing us.”

They turned to look at the empty, silent corridor. No drones, no security laser gun fire, no blaring alarm like a minute ago, no anything doing anything to them. The three looked at each other questioningly.

* * *

“- - and she enjoyed it. No one else did, but… She went to the funeral in _blue_.” Knock Out closed the e-book he was reading out loud and gave his assistant a toothy grin. “Well, Breakdown, what do you think?”

The ATV chuckled from his spot on the floor, where he had lounged on his front, elbows propped and chin resting in his palms listening to the red sports car read the “Funeral in blue” novel in one long session. It had been a quiet day in the med bay. “You got the smoothest voice, Doc. The story’s rubbish, like the ones before, but-” The blue mech tapped the floor with his digit. “Read another.”

Now it was the medic’s turn to chuckle. He stretched in his seat. “Now now, dear Breakdown, you must confess that the description of the Bugatti was _exquisite_.”

“Yeah, but the story was sappy, and the fleshies far too clingy. And what was that stuff about moaning and crying against the mirror? I don’t get it.” Breakdown rolled onto his back and idly counted the overlapping platings on the roof. “Think anyone’s missed us?”

The red Decepticon hummed and waved his servo, placing another pede against the edge of the med berth. “Most likely they have forgotten us completely. Yes, the main character was indeed a weeping mess of wasted DNA. Well, we do deserve a break every now and then. Anyway, which one next; 'The speed monster' or 'Under the surgeon’s knife'?"

* * *

Had the alert and communications systems worked, the two would have gotten a message of the intruders on-board. Had they bothered to pay attention to their surroundings, they would’ve noticed something was wrong. Had either of the two mechs been a security camera, they would’ve noticed the three humans outside the medical bay doors, hiding less than well behind one of the support beams.

 _But no one was a security camera unless they had been explicitly built as a security camera_ , the security camera C-MED1 thought, as it continued recording the view before its lens. The view of the humans, until the program demanded it to move left.

It had never thought its existence to be boring nor meaningful, so it simply was, its lens and frame following the security pattern programmed into it. Left. Left. Left. A 180° turn, zoom, left, left, left, unzoom, repeat five times, switch to pattern B, and so on. Every now and then, it looked at the medbay doors, the humans, the adjacent corridors, walls, walls, the medbay doors again, on a repeat. That was all the security camera was and it was existence. It was not its job to alert of the location of the creatures it saw, merely record, record and record.

And so the C-MED1 security camera did. It recorded until its lens broke or it was switched off. But for now, it recorded the three humans running along an adjacent corridor and out of its lens range.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow I can see Knock Out reading so-called "Kiosk Literature".
> 
> Prompts for chapter 1:  
> What should happen next, roll a die: Number 6: ALIEN ATTACK!  
> Write a (short story) with a character, who is least like you.  
> The last movie you watched? Write a monologue by the main character.  
> "She went to the funeral in blue."  
> Write a prompt from the perspective of a security camera.
> 
> Do tell me if there are typos etc.


	2. Optimus’s day off

 

It had taken Ratchet many millennia to soften Optimus to the idea of a day off. The medic had doubled his efforts when it became evident that they would spend more time on this mud ball of a planet. Besides, the planet had some fetching features for a holiday, more so than the Autobot HQ or some raggedy asteroid base.

Of course Ratchet’s softening had in fact been performed through threatening and wrench-throwing and by claiming that prolonged stress was detrimental to one’s health and that the ‘bots needed their Prime. And thus, after some professional wrench-throwing from Ratchet (and hitting the Prime square in the helm and thus pointing that the Prime’s reflexes were getting sluggish) and noisy extravaganza from the humans (mainly Miko) and their guardian ‘bots, the Prime had decided to take a leisurely, day-long patrol (something to witch Ratchet had reacted with a lift of his wrench and a scoff). Though Optimus was aware that the medic knew this to be the only way Optimus would agree to _time off_ and _relaxation_.

And so the red-and-blue truck was driving down a small, winding dirt road covered with trees in autumn leaves. The cool breeze that freed leaves to float in the air and across the road felt nice on the plating of Optimus’s alt-mode. Optimus hummed happily. He wouldn’t flat out admit it to Ratchet but he was indeed in need of some time off. It wasn’t so much that he needed a break from the war, but his past, his spirit and curiosity as Orion Pax had been left to the side-lines for far too long. He knew that the Pax’s naivety was unsuited for battle. But now the Prime was on a strange faraway planet teeming with new life and exiting things. Sometimes the Autobot could barely contain his archivist curiosity when their Energon hunt took them to new, unseen areas. And the autumn leaves were one of the things the Autobot leader could never tire of. The multitude of colours. They existed for only a fleeting moment, only if certain conditions in place, time and temperature were met. Truly a magnificent little planet, growing with abundant nature and filled with strong-willed, resourceful people.

It had been an hour or two, or _six_ , since Prime had left on his so-called patrol and been in contact with the base. Suddenly, the leaves swirled like a hurricane, near blinding the languidly driving truck, and a loud sound, like a large blade whooshing and cutting anything near it, reached the Autobot leader’s audios. A sound he recognized anywhere, accompanied by a familiar voice.

“Prime!” Fowler shouted into a megaphone. Optimus swerved to a halt on the side of a small clearing. “The kids are on the ‘con warship!”

The Prime’s engine stalled, before it revved louder than ever as he raced down the road he had come towards the previous Bridge coordinates, following the protocol for situations under cut-off communications.

* * *

Fowler had woken up with a headache. First he had thought it was because of the intensive training retreat he had returned from last night. After the refreshing, _cold_ , morning shower he decided to file it under caffeine withdrawal. But after his large, _hot,_ pot of morning coffee, he decided that that wasn’t the reason either. By the time he was tightening the tie around his neck, he popped a military-grade painkiller in his mouth and by the time he reached his desk on the second floor in a secret military base, he gulped another tablet down his throat. By noon he was having the worst heartburn in his life, but the headache was gone.

“By my star-spangled shorts, I bet it was that sushi…” The man groaned with his chin on the table and his necktie loosened to a wide loop. His eyes were deep in his darker than usual eye sockets.

Whether the man was paler or darker than normally was impossible to say; his complexion seemed to change from flushed to a sheet in a heartbeat. Another groan filled the office space. For a moment Agent Fowler thought about calling Nurse Darby for a professional opinion, but eyeing the opened packet of military-grade painkillers he decided against it. Lady Liberty knows how June would react if she found out he had been snacking on _the_ _good stuff_ , like the soldiers referred to the drug. A sharp ring pierced through the agent’s druggy haze and caused his long-gone headache to return momentarily.

“Fowler,” he gruffed into the phone, chin never leaving the surface of the desk.

* * *

It was not a good day for Ratchet. First he had needed to convince Optimus (forcefully) to take some time off, then right after Prime had driven through the ground bridge the systems had had a frizz and communications had shut down, or more accurately, melted down. Currently the main communications control hub was a block of melted metal with some sparks flying off of it for good measure. And Ratchet had used his good wrench on Optimus. The medic was NOT having a good day.

“Rafael,” Ratchet called as he knelt beside the melted mess grumbling about the ‘extra work’ under his ex-vent. “Rafael.”

No answer. Which normally wasn’t surprising, noting how the children were always making so much noise that the medic would’ve had to blare his sirens to elicit a reaction from at least one of them or the ‘bots accompanying them. But right now, the base was silent. Eerily silent. The red-and-white Autobot lifted his gaze.

“Jack?” He tried. No sound. “Rafael?”

He walked to the railing surrounding the upper platform the children used for recreation. The sofa was empty and the TV turned off. The children’s backpacks were laying haphazardly on the floor. An opened schoolbook was on the table, most presumably Rafael’s. He called for the children again.

No answer.

Perhaps the children were with their guardians, was the first thought Ratchet’s CPU produced as an explanation for the missing children. But he knew it wouldn’t be so. The other three Autobots had gone out to scout a possible Energon mine, leaving the three humans in his and Optimus’s care. Except he had ushered Optimus out for a stroll, and Ratchet knew without a doubt the big ‘bot would’ve told him if he was taking the children with him (which was highly unlikely, since the purpose for Optimus’s day off was to explicitly get some _rest_ ).

Cold dread ran down the old medic’s kibble as panic and worry set in.

He rushed to the main console to check the security recordings. Five minutes later he was punching the keys to get a read on the recent ground bridge history and signal pathways. Three minutes later he was driving like the Unmaker was on his exhaust pipe towards the human’s secret military base, preparing to ram the gate if need be. Hopefully an ambulance (driving itself) with sirens on would be incentive enough to let him in and see agent Fowler or at least call the human to the front gate stat.

* * *

Fowler slid the helicopter door shut as the rotors were already lifting the machine off the helipad. From the window he could see Ratchet drive like a madman back towards the Autobot base with a fresh (human) comm. system in his cabin.

 “Well, best thank Old Abe that Prime ain’t in Scotland,” he breathed. Because in his current state, Agent Fowler couldn’t handle the accent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts for this chap:  
> TF Prime! Your title is: "Optimus's day off"  
> Roll a die! Thrice!: Painkillers, Sushi, a gate  
> And an extra prompt: Scotland


End file.
